


christmas trees, mistletoes and alcohol

by berrryriot



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, M/M, Mistletoe, Out of Character, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21986437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berrryriot/pseuds/berrryriot
Summary: he hasn’t had Christmas for quite some time. now he’s open to know exactly what it is. what it feels.
Relationships: Kieran Duffy/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	christmas trees, mistletoes and alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> It's been quite some time since I wrote, so I do hope you forgive me for any grammatical errors.  
> Enjoy this delayed Christamas!Kierthur oneshot

_“Do you celebrate Christmas, Arthur?”_

_“No.”_

_“That’s pretty sad.”_

* * *

Though quick and intentionally insignificant, the conversation that took several days ago still continued to haunt Arthur.

Now, usually, for a man who had grown accustomed to running from state to state; avoiding lawmen like the black plague, switching identities and backstories quicker than any rising author can ever dream to be, thoughts and events like Christmas [or whatever holiday common folk be celebrating] should be the least of his concerns.

Should be, however, there was something about Lenny – a man whose family background was something white men would have thirsted over, looking at him like he was robbed of a childhood.

If Dutch asks why there is a sudden influx of books by Arthur’s cot side table, saying that he’s been plotting against the higher people of society sounded more in character than if he were to say that he’s curious about a celebration done by the Romans headed by the first Christian Emperor where people exchanged gifts and lit candles to celebrate the birth of some miraculous baby from years ago.

It was silly.

It was ridiculous.

But he’d be lying if he says that there was nothing heartwarming about gathering his family around the campfire and exchange a bunch of knick-knacks with each other, singing about a “Silent Night” whilst hunched over tasteless porridge Pearson would have made for that night.

He read about something called _nochebuena_ – a real festive time **_before_** Christmas involving roasted pigs [an event before the actual event], and something in him begins to wonder if Javier celebrated it when he wasn’t being hunted down by the government. Arthur thinks its real selfish that he didn’t share tradition, but that’s just the childish irrational thought in him.

In fact, Christmas sounded like a hotpot of cultures, and none of them choose to celebrate it. That’s real selfish, if you ask him.

He wouldn’t have mind eating round the campfire as a family once every year.

“You’ve flipped those pages more than you have your journal today, Arthur.”

Arthur snapped the book in his hand and looked up to face Hosea, who looked all too eager to find his _unruly_ son reading something.

“Just planning, Hosea.” Arthur said, waving his hand to dismiss the curiosity the other seemed to have brewing. “Planning stuff.”

“You must be planning to overthrow the bourgeoisie.”

“The _what?_ ”

“Good to know you haven’t gained a single brain cell after all that.”

Arthur has learned to laugh at things he doesn’t understand, and so he laughs.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re actually reading up on, son.” Hosea says, granting himself a seat next to Arthur. “You can fool Dutch, but I’m much brighter than he is.”

“Are you?”

“Aren’t I?” Hosea replies, lighting a cigarette. “Don’t answer that.”

“Tell me, Hosea.” Arthur started, opening up his book. “Did we ever celebrate Christmas?”

“Sure, we did.” Hosea replied, surprisingly quick for Arthur. “When Bessie was still around, she insisted we celebrate it every year. Until she fell sick and all, I didn’t have the energy to keep it up. Susan also says it’s too much work for Mr. Pearson. If you ask me, she was just really upset that the woman she could strongly relate to was gone, and Christmas was too heavy of a reminder.”

“Huh, why don’t I remember any of this?” Arthur asked. “I mean, I remember Aunt Bessie, but I don’t remember any of this.”

“It was a really small celebration; you should at least remember receiving a toy from Bessie or Dutch. Don’t you?” Hosea continued. “It would be made of sticks if Dutch made ‘em, and Bessie made frequent trips to the city to get you and John those knick-knacks.”

“I think I recall those.”

“You don’t, Arthur.” Hosea chuckled. “You have a tell when you lie. It’s showing.”

“I do?”

“Not really. But now I know you’re lying.”

“You’re too quick for your age.”

“It’s called wisdom.” Hosea replied, grunting as he stood from the cot. “You should try and reignite the Christmas spirit ‘round here. Bessie would smile from the grave if you do. Almighty knows that she loved celebrating it with a bunch of outlaws.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Every single day.” Hosea said as he wringed his hands behind his back.

“Do you know what she loved?”

“Now that you mention it.” Hosea replied, nostalgia flooding him, a soft smile gracing his ageing features. “She loved hanging those mistle-plants ‘round camp. Insisted that she and I stand under it.”

“Why?”

“You gotta kiss the the feller you stand with under the mistle-plant.”

* * *

Christmas was a thing. Well, it was a thing now.

It was supposed to be just an idea to entertain, but Hosea made it a tradition to bring back to life, and [again] he’d lie if he says he didn’t feel pressured.

Unlike Dutch, he knew when to ask help – in reality, it was the people around him who had trouble reciprocating his request, but they aren’t ready for that conversation. Though asking for help for a city-thing celebration in a group of uncouth outlaws was as stupid as it sounded, it just didn’t fit.

But he found some people.

There was Lenny, Mary-Beth, Javier and Kieran. They weren’t the fanciest or most knowledgeable about city-folk culture, but they get around – much more than him obviously. He knew that Christmas was a thing, but not only were they eager to revive a dead tradition, they weren’t aware the Van Der Lindes could have ever celebrated anything like that.

The four folks plus Arthur sat by the fire near the makeshift stables. His hand in his journal, filling in a checklist and adding notes.

“You all just seem too sad for Christmas.” Kieran piped in. “Even the O’Driscolls knew when to celebrate birthdays. I thought they had you one-upped for that.”

“Don’t start.” Javier replied, hands gingerly hovering over his trusty dagger. “We just had better things to do.”

“Better things, sure.” Lenny mumbled.

“I’m glad you thought of this, Arthur!” Mary-Beth chimed in, muting the three to the background. “I’ve heard all about these celebrations being gushed about the ladies of the house. They always talk about dancing, and fine wine, and exchanging of gifts. Even the maids would have their own ‘lil celebration.”

“Did they?” Arthur said, writing it down in his journal. “I thought it was just a high-class thing.”

“Not at all!” Javier interjected. “Back in Mexico, even the poorest _familia_ would have something for _nochebuena._ You can’t not celebrate it. Mother would make the warmest meals and you’d hear children caroling right by your doorstep, asking for leftovers or for spare change. It was a mixture of music and warm meals.”

“We didn’t have much to begin with, working for the stables and all but Ma and Pa would receive a pig from the stable owner, especially when the work for the year has been real good, and roast that over fire, that’d be our Christmas celebration.” Kieran said, looking like he’s reliving a dream. “Then we’d share it over some eggnog the lady of the house would have shared with my mother.”

“Our celebrations usually reached till the day afterwards. Our neighbors would have shared each other’s food and my father would let me take a sip from his whiskey and craft a small toy while trying to hold discussions with the others.” Lenny spoke up. “It wasn’t much but it was definitely something.”

“He let you drink?” Kieran asked. “Pa wouldn’t even let me take a whiff of the alcohol he got. I always got the eggnogs without rum or whiskey.”

“Of course!” Lenny laughed out loud. “Christmas was the only time I was allowed to drink – back then. Now I drink so much more, don’t I, Arthur?”

Arthur twitched and felt the hint of a headache haunt him. “Please don’t bring that back.”

“You boys are all about alcohol!” Mary-Beth spoke up, a look of distaste on her features. “Remember that we also can use that night to dress up and dance much more than we ever had. We should exchange gifts and hang mistletoes!”

“That!” Arthur spoke up, his pencil stopping mid-sentence. “That mistle-thing. Where do we get that?”

“Are we really gonna do that?” Kieran spoke up grimly. “I mean, do we have to?”

“What’s wrong with it, Kieran?” Mary-Beth asked.

“It’s just…we don’t need it.” Kieran replied. “With how drunk you all get around; things might get messy.”

“Oh, shush up, Kieran.” Mary-Beth said, slapping his arm. “It’ll be the best of times. We might even get Mister Marston and Miss Roberts to make up for one night!”

“Or Dutch and Molly.”

“Or Bill and Micah.”

“HA!” Javier cried out. “That would be the funniest thing. I like it, let’s get this mistle-thing going. Whatever you fellers are down for.”

“Mistle-toe.” Mary-Beth corrected. “It’s not mistle-plant, or mistle-thing. It’s mistletoe.”

“Must we?”

“O’Driscoll.” Arthur interjected. “We’re doing the mistle-thing.”

“Mistletoe.” Mary-Beth corrected.

“Mistletoe.” Arthur said. “It’s something Bessie would have liked and we’re keeping it. It’ll lighten up the mood and get a bunch of people up.”

“Up for something else, sure.” Kieran mumbled.

“Stickinthemud.” Lenny coughed, ignoring the offended look Kieran shot him. “Anyway, what can we do to help you, Arthur?”

Arthur flashed them a small smile, rather flustered with it all. “Ah yeah. Food, we need food. And lights, lots of lights.”

“Javier and I can capture a bunch of wild hogs for the meat.” Lenny volunteered, already prepping to call the Irish. “I’m gonna ask Charles to come with, he can get some of those bison too!”

“That’s a good idea.” Arthur said, already marking a thing of his list. “How about the lights?”

“Please ask me to get the lights, Arthur.” Mary-Beth said. “Susan would allow us girls to head into town and grab some, plus we could get real fancy things from really large houses. You know we can!”

“You must be itching to leave, don’t you?” Arthur chuckled. “Fine, I’ll give you the lights.”

“Thank you, Arthur!” Mary-Beth stood from her place and placed a small kiss on Arthur’s cheek. “We’ll make sure we make this ‘ol camping grounds the brightest you’ve seen.”

Mary-Beth, Javier and Lenny got up from their seats and rushed to their tasks, stringing along a bunch of people nearby to come help them.

“Uh…Mr. Morgan?” Kieran spoke up. “What can I do?”

“Tell me, Kieran.” Arthur said, crossing his arms infront of his lap. “What can you do? Mary-Beth, Javier and Lenny all volunteered for something.”

“I don’t know. I’m not much for volunteering. I can do stuff you ask me to.”

“How about a tree? Like a fig tree, somewhere mountainous.” Arthur suggested. “You think you can do that, O’Driscoll?”

“I’m not an O’Driscoll, mister.” Kieran groaned, honestly tired of this whole name-calling business. “But I can get that tree.”

“Alright, get to it.”

“Wait, alone?”

“Can’t you do it alone?”

“I mean, Lenny got the rest to hunt bisons and hogs with ‘em.” Kieran mumbled, wringing his hands. “I just thought I could get some…”

“Some?” Arthur continued to tease. “Get some what?”

“Never mind, Arthur!” Kieran cried out, unexplainably flustered. “I’ll get the whole damn tree myself!”

Arthur laughed out loud before getting up off his seat. “As if I’ll let you out my sight.”

“What you mean?”

“Huh?” Arthur stuttered. “Cause you’re an O’Driscoll, that’s what I mean. I don’t need you running off to Colm.”

“Oh. Okay. Of course.”

“Yeah.”

* * *

“Work much harder today, alright?” Kieran spoke up, talking to the work horse that was strapped to the wagon. “It’ll be over quickly. Just a ‘lil trip to the forest area, we’ll get a tree, then get back home.”

“Do you talk to all the horses ‘round here?”

Kieran yelped and faced Arthur, embarrassed about being caught partaking in his weird horse hand behavior. “Just those that work a lot.”

“All the horses work a lot.” Arthur said, double checking that all the knots and ties are in place. “Except The Count maybe, that regal horse don’t seem to life a hoof in his life except to carry and move Dutch around.”

Arthur boosted himself up and sat on the left side of the wagon, hands on the reins. He reached over and grabbed Kieran’s hand, almost swinging his lithe body over the wagon, but settling to have him sit on the right side.

“He’s the most spoilt out of all the horses. Real picky with the hay too.” Kieran said, dusting off his pants. “He doesn’t like sharing his hay with any of the horses.”

“Just like his owner.” Arthur chuckled, calling out to those who were at camp. “We’ll be back!”

“Get the biggest tree!” Sean called out  
“The grandest!” Susan added  
“The heaviest!” Bill said  
“Make the O’Driscoll work!” Dutch finished.

Kieran grimaced and sat uncomfortably by the edge as Arthur snapped the reins. Of course, he’d work hard, he’ll make sure he’ll work even harder than Arthur. Kieran’ll prove to the rest that he can carry a whole tree, a whole _fucking_ forest if he has to. Real tiring having to hear them taunt, shove and mock him.

“Tell me about the horses, Kieran.”

“Huh?” Kieran snapped out of his thoughts. “The horses?”

“Yeah. I don’t like the silence as much right now.” Arthur mumbled, welcoming his off-character behavior. “Tell me about the horses, ranch hands said they’d usually mimic their owner’s behaviors.”

“Except Missus Adler’s horse maybe.” Kieran started. “He’s a really warm fellow, but then his owner is cold and a bit mean. Bob loves being pet and pampered, much more than The Count, maybe.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Kieran cried out. “Maybe Missus Adler is in a really dark place right now, but she must have loved to be pampered and cared for. Or the horse was her husband’s.”

“Maybe.” Arthur agreed. “What about the rest? How about Old Belle? Nell II?”

“Old Belle is exactly like Ms. Jones; the horse insists that they got it all. But then I’d find ‘em asking me for the hay they turned down. Nell II is exactly like Uncle too; they don’t do much.” Kieran pouted. “I can kinda see how everybody is based on their horses. Well, except for one.”

“You mean Bob?”

“Besides him.”

“Who?”

“You, Arthur.”

Arthur faced Kieran, hands still in rein, his look steady even when the road they tracked on was as bumpy as it could get, the sound of the wooden wheels slamming against the stones harshly.

“Don’t take offense, Arthur.” Kieran spoke up defensively, hands raised. “You did ask.”

“Yeah, and I don’t exactly understand you.” Arthur spoke, his expression still unreadable. “What exactly do you see in my horse?”

“Your horse is a real pushover, Arthur.” Kieran noted, still cautious with how the larger man might react, bracing for a jab straight towards his ugly mug. “Like I tried joking with it, and it really followed through. I wanna think that maybe it’s because your horse is from the wild, but its like the horse was made to follow blindly.”

“Follow blindly, huh.”

“And I don’t think you’re like that, you know?” Kieran continued. “You’re loyal, not dumb. I’ve seen the most disloyal but dumb and desperate bunch of people come and go under Colm’s hand and you aren’t like them. You’re different, you know what you’re riskin when you do things. Maybe I just haven’t been treating your horse right, it just doesn’t match, is all.”

“Perhaps, the horse is right.” Arthur chuckled bitterly. “I mean, I’m here doing things cause Hosea told me. Don’t you think I’m dumb, O’Driscoll?”

“Not an O’Driscoll.” Kieran interjected. “And no, you aren’t dumb, just a feller with a really big heart. I mean, wouldn’t you say that you wanted to know about Christmas ‘yerself? You’re really putting yourself down more than you should.”

“Since when do you get the right to talk back.”

“I’m sorry!” Kieran cried out, figure shrinking almost immediately. Eyes frantically looking for a distraction, his pupils lightening up as he spotted the perfect looking tree in the distance. “Hey! Look, that’s a good tree to bring!”

“Tree?”

“That’s what were here for?”

“Ah yeah, the Christmas tree.” Arthur snapped the reins. “With how you were talking, I thought I was being sent a covenant.”

Kieran laughed.

Arthur chuckled in response.

The two got off the wagon and grabbed the axes at the back, hacking at the tree in intervals, all of which was done in fitting silence. The sun had begun to set when the two finished, loading the heavy load to the wagon, Kieran feeding the work horses just before the rode back.

“Are you mad?” Kieran piqued in, his nerves making him shiver. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Mr. Morgan. I swear.”

“You didn’t offend me, O’Driscoll.” Arthur assured, eyes on the road. “Just said some things I needed to hear, is all.”

“I’m sorry, I have to say it.” Kieran replied. “I’m not an O’Driscoll.”

“I know. I’m just teasing you.”

“You really enjoy doing that.”

“Really?”

“You and the rest of the gang, ya’ll like to poke fun. What more do I gotta do to show I’m loyal to y’all?”

“Kiss my ass.” Arthur chuckled, the other not finding is as funny as Arthur had. “Just work harder, Duffy. You’ll get your cut soon.”

Soon the pair reached camp, welcomed by the warm cheers of the members. The tree they had strapped in the wagon, immediately dressed with shiny balls, a matching tree skirt and other hanging ornaments and held down in the center of camp, just by the entrance of Dutch’s tent, where the classical gramophone played the cheeriest of songs sung by the smoothest of vocals from a vinyl that was, no doubt, not originally theirs.

By the smaller campfire, Leopold Strauss prepares a type of soup that he tells to have served during his own celebration of Christmas, being watched over by a sobering Reverend Swanson, who says that he “must be sane for the Lord’s arrival.”. It’s been entertaining to watch him try.

Over by the larger campfire, Charles and Pearson had carved up the hog, it’s skin already crisping and insides looking tender, and was caramelizing and finishing the roast over open fire, Susan coming in between the two sneaking in spices to rightfully flavor the large hunk of meat, because let tonight be the night where she eats something that has taste.

By Hosea’s tent, Sean and Lenny had begun to hull the boxes of alcohol that would no doubt be empty come morning. Kieran comes and grabs a bottle or two, preparing his family’s recipe for eggnog – something he’s been quite ready to make. With Karen, who surprisingly had knowledge in making the classic Christmas drink, trailing behind him with a bunch of ingredients in hand.

Hosea helped Abigail dress Jack in the finest threads they could provide, John hovering behind his wife and son in cautious distance, his boy’s tiny shoes in hand, only approaching them when Abigail calls for him. In similar fashion, in their respective tent, Dutch stood a few steps away from Molly who dressed herself for the occasion. Fresh from an argument the night before, he could only come close to tighten her corset or clasp her pearls as she put them on.

Just outside the campgrounds, Bill finished his rounds, more than eager to join the rest in preparing for this Christmas event.

The sky had completely darkened, with glittering stars gracing the night, when Hosea had granted himself the floor with a quick speech.

“I would like to thank you all for this. Arthur, for bringing a tradition Bessie would have loved to lead. You know that you didn’t have to do this, but you did and I’m glad.” Hosea started, the softest of expression on his features. “I know this is new to some of us, but here’s to more Christmases spent with all you, hooligans. Now to start, Miss Gaskill insists that we all exchange gifts. You all got gifts, yes?”

“Yes!” The girls cheered, waving their gifts in the air.  
“She wouldn’t shut up about it!” Sean cried out, a poorly wrapped item in hand.  
“We got em.” Lenny spoke up.  
“I stole ‘em.” Micah sneered. “You got me committing crimes here, Miss Gaskill.”

Mary-Beth couldn’t help but glare at Micah’s direction who found her irritated expression to be more than amusing. Can’t she get one night without feeling quite pickled with his very existence?

Brushing him aside, Mary-Beth took to the floor her own quick program, a neatly wrapped box in hand.

“As you are all aware, earlier this evening, I asked you to pick a name from a hat!” Mary-Beth cried out. “The gig is you have to give what you got to that person and that person gives it to who they pick. Y’all got that?” Her smile reaching the corners of her eyes as she heard a resounding yes from the crowd.

For a bunch of outlaws deemed to be selfish and cruel, these group of outlaws found it more than amusing to exchange knick-knacks with one another. Jack got to exchange his hand-made toy with Dutch, who treasured it like gold – displaying it among the books he has by his tent. Dutch then gingerly hands a priceless tiny nugget of gold to Uncle who is more than happy to have it in hand.

Uncle, despite lazing about, thought deep and well for his gift, giving a hand-crafted guitar to Javier who was more than blown away with what he got. Javier decided to re-gift and give a scarf his sister had given him to Karen, who swore to take care of it [after all this was from a family you could only visit in your memories]. Karen, though, has vocally complained about Micah, had given him a customized bottle opener – even if the latter claims he don’t need a tool to open a good bottle of whiskey.

“Then give it back, Micah.” Karen scorned.

“Too bad, you gave it already.” Micah sneered.

Like he had said, Micah had stolen his gift. Quite literally, sneaking away with Leopold’s rusty ‘ol pistol and taking it to town to have it polished and engraved with the German’s initials, handing it over to the medicine man with a sly grin on his face. Though shocked, Leopold brings out a rather neat looking fountain pen and hands it to Mary-Beth, receiving the item with much joy and excitement.

“You should continue writing those stories of yours, Miss Gaskill.” Strauss says, filling the dreamer with much needed motivation.

Mary-Beth then gives her well-wrapped gift to John, who receives it with surprise – almost as if he couldn’t believe that he was included. Containing the box was a mini sewing kit.

“So that next time, Jack’s clothes wouldn’t have to be all ripped and disassembled!”

“I thought it was my gift, not Jack’s.”

“Exactly.”

“Damn it, Mary-Beth.”

John pockets the gift of Mary-Beth, a glow of appreciation still present in his features. He wouldn’t admit it, nor is he ready to face it, but John was kind of excited to receive something that can make him a better father. Continuing the cycle, John got out a priceless looking necklace, shyly walking to his own wife who eyed the jewelry with uncertainty.

“Before you ask, I didn’t kill a man for this, I didn’t steal. I borrowed money from Hosea and bought it.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask any of those, Marston.” Abigail answered, lightly chuckling at the flustered expression John wore.

“Really?”

“I won’t now.”

Abigail felt the heavy looks the camp gave them, being a couple blessed with a child and troubled with tension was never an easy job here. She sighed deeply and kissed John on the cheek, stopping herself from laughing as she heard the collective exhale of camp.

The merry making continued as Abigail gifted Sadie with hair clips she had treasured from her youth [or what she can vividly recall of it], clipping the stray hairs of the sad lady who had cling to her for support and comfort. Hesitantly, she brought an empty looking album and walked to Arthur.

“Here.”

“Why, thank you, Missus Adler.” Arthur said, holding the album tightly in hand. “I’d make sure to put this to good use.”

“You go around camp and take pictures with that camera of yours, I figured that you at least have it printed and stick it. Here.”

“Do I really look like I enjoy phototaking?”

“Yes.” Came the collective reply of camp, those who were tired of being Arthur’s candid subjects much louder than the rest.

“See.”

Arthur laughed out loud, bringing the album to his satchel, bringing out a clean journal. Continuing the circle, he brought his gift – a leather-clad journal, with an engraved “KD” on the strap which held it together, and walked over to Kieran Duffy, who is making a true effort to blend with the background and be ignored by the rest, surprised with the burly figure towering his smaller frame.

“Hey, Duffy.” Arthur said, bending to his level. “Merry Christmas.”

“Ah! Thank you, Arthur. For this.” Kieran held up the item. “W-What is this?”

“It’s a journal, you seem like you got a lot to say all the time, so here, have a journal and write it down. Don’t feel shy to share ‘em with me.”

Arthur walked back to his spot, leaving a rather flustered Duffy in his steps. Karen, who found herself feeling tipsy with the eggnog she has been drinking since dusk, decided to comment on just how red their ‘ol O’Driscoll was looking.

“Come on, Karen.” Arthur cried out. “Call him Duffy, Kieran Duffy.”

Kieran could only brush the rising feeling of embarrassment, he knows Arthur is relentlessly teasing him again, and he isn’t here for it. [Maybe he is, but he wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.] Choosing to ignore the remarks and continuing the circle. Handing Sean a sharp knife with a customized hold, noting how he’s seen him whittle in his free time, and figured he’d want a sharper knife.

“That’s real sweet, O’Dri-“

“Ahem.” Arthur interjects.

“I mean, Duffy. Real sweet of ya.”

Sean giggled, far too drunk to approach his exchange, but tossing the gift in his direction. Hosea sighs and picks the pocket novel, appreciating the gesture of the passed-out Irishman. Giving his gift to the Reverend, who was more than enthusiastic to find a bible in hand [without a secret pocket for his vices this time]. Holding it tight in hand, he makes his way to Tilly who finds his present of Poppy seeds to be surprising.

“Flowers?”

“A flower deserves a flower child. Seeds. I mean.” Swanson stumbles. “Plus, they would look nice when you braid your hair, Miss Jackson.”

“Why, thank you, Reverend.”

“No, thank you, Miss Jackson, for putting up with everyone here.”

The night resumed with Tilly giving Molly a nice-looking brooch, and Molly giving Susan a hand-mirror of her own, though admittedly Susan didn’t exactly find it nice to be gifted a mirror by Dutch’s new girl. Susan gifts Pearson a jar of spices, and she insists that he puts her gift to good use by using it every meal. Pearson gifts Charles a carving knife, saying that he doesn’t exactly know what to get him, but Charles appreciates the gift either way.

“I might as well put it to use when we serve the bison later on.”

“You got it!” Pearson replied enthusiastically, relieved that he brought something that didn’t disappoint.

To finish the circle, Charles hands Jack a toy, much better looking than any toy John would have purchased in the city. It was a reindeer and a wolf, carved and detailed to perfection. Jack, of course, accepts it with open arms.

“Thank you all so much for participating y’all.” Mary-Beth cries out. “Now go and get drunk, eat like tomorrow is not coming, sing and dance like you have not committed a crime!”

And so, they did.

Jack was sent to his tent early, with Hosea watching his faux grandson. Allowing the two parents to enjoy the night dancing while intoxicated. He knows Bessie and he would have done the same had they been blessed with a child of their own.

The rest, as expected, drank hard liquor or drank the eggnog with enthusiasm, losing grip on reality quickly. Kieran may have not made it as alcoholic, but Karen went along and laced the family-friendly drink with doses of the Devil’s drink – much more than necessary.

It was quick into the night when the rest have stumbled around camp, just choosing to spend the night face down the grass. Arthur wasn’t as clumsy as they, however, he may be clumsier.

As Bessie would have wanted, mistletoe flowers were hung around camp. One by the tree that he and Kieran have chopped down, one by Dutch’s tent, another by Marston’s and two separate ones by the food and medicine wagon, just in case one may choose to spend the night there.

He’d be lying when he says it wasn’t amusing to catch Bill trying to smooch Javier and catching a fist instead, or to see the women avoid the medicine wagon just because Micah was standing near it, with the explicit intention to kiss, at least, one of them. The men had found it more than amusing to find Karen giving Mary-Beth more than enough kisses, had Sean not flashed them away. [And had Tilly not hit their head with a rabbit’s carcass]

Though Arthur wasn’t as explicit like them, he too was looking for something or someone to end the night with. He touched almost every tradition; it wouldn’t feel complete had he not done that too. Kissing was weird, he hasn’t had anything touch his lips besides the cold bottle of alcohol, so he was quite unsure on what to feel or to expect.

Javier was far too pissed off to convince a kiss from, Charles was far too out of character to kiss either. John was gross and he didn’t exactly want a kiss from Lenny or Sean. The girls were off-limits too, it felt wrong to kiss them.

“Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur turned his head towards Kieran, the intoxication following him with his vision blurring and doubling. “Yes, Duffy. Kieran. Duffy.”

“I wanted to thank you, for the journal.” Kieran spoke up, voice soft as he too was just as intoxicated. “It was really nice, getting that for me. I’ll tell you all that’s in my head next time. All of it.”

“Hey Duffy, how thankful are you.”

“Very thankful.”

“Good. That’s an expensive journal.”

“Is it?”

“Very. Had to kill a man.”

“Really?”

“No, you idiot!” Arthur laughed, clutching his belly and falling over. “I won’t kill a man for a journal.”

“Really?”

“I would if you asked me to.” Arthur mumbled. “Blind following and shit.”

“Shut up, Arthur.” Kieran wobbly stood up. “You got to let go of that blind following horse shit I said.”

“I won’t. It’s true.” Arthur stood up alongside him, giggles and bubbly laughter leaving him as he continued to annoy Kieran, enjoying more than he should.

“No, it’s not.” Kieran frowned, gripping Arthur’s face in his smaller hands. “You’re a dumb man with a big heart not a dumb man that’s just dumb.”

“How’s that any different, huh?”

“I wouldn’t like a dumb man that’s just dumb.” Kieran said, mind gone, just pushing through with his words motivated by the idea of both of them forgetting it come the morning. “A dumb man that’s just dumb wouldn’t keep an idiot like me in camp, or gift me journals, or ask me to cut trees with em.”

“I asked you to do those stuff with me.” Arthur mumbled, his face a bit red. “Because I’m not a dumb man.”

“You got a heart, Arthur.” Kieran insists, squeezing his cheeks. “A big fucking heart.”

“Kiss him, idiot!” Karen cried out from the other side, being held back by Sean who wanted his own kiss. “Kiss him or whatever!”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, and held Kieran’s much smaller face in his large, calloused palms. “Should I?”

“There’s a mistle-plant on top, so maybe?” Kieran said, face completely red at this point.

“It’s a mistletoe, you idiot.”

Arthur, though a bit drunk and struggling to stand on his own two feet, pressed his lips against Kieran’s. The latter welcoming it and without hesitance, returning the gesture with much vigor. Allowing all his weight to be carried by Arthur – him failing hence the two clumsily falling to the ground, lips still clinging to each other. As expected from two individuals who have not kissed anyone else for a notable amount of time, there were awkward hand placing and the fear in the air that things would be awkward if the kiss was broken, so there was a lot of air held in.

“Ya’ll gonna die down there, or whatever.”

Arthur and Kieran parted for air, a cough and a desperate inhale coming from both.

Lenny bent down to their level, a look of disappointment on his face. “Ya’ll both suck at this. Like that was really bad and unromantic. I can sweep Sean off his feet much better than you fellers ever could with each other.”

“Shut up, I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“That’s pretty obvious, Arthur.” Lenny said. “Can’t hold your alcohol, can’t hold your feller. You really are ageing.” Lenny pulled himself up and headed towards Sean who was gripping Karen’s arm stronger than he should, Lenny knows a bruise would form and Sean would get in a lot of trouble.

“Be glad Duffy is on top of me right now.”

“Aren’t you the glad one, Arthur?”

“I’ll get you in the morning!”

“Sure.” Lenny chuckled, loosening Sean’s grip and swinging his friend’s arm over his shoulder. The Irish should learn to control his alcohol and his wanton for women. He’s an idiot as usual.

“I’m sorry Mr. Morgan.” Kieran mumbled; lips pressed against Arthur’s neck. “I should get off.”

“Stay.”

“Stay?”

“Just till Christmas ends.”

“Sir, it’s Christmas Eve, in fact Christmas doesn’t start a few hours from now.”

“I said what I said.”

Kieran flushed pink and oddly positioned himself on Arthur’s chest. A sense of comfort and new sensations flooding him. Things were strange and he isn’t sure if he should thank or change them, but for now, he supposes they were okay.

“Can I stay even after Christmas?”

Arthur swung his arm across his eyes, far too drunk to process the events he had piloted. Mumbling a yes before allowing himself to quickly slumber on the dirty ground, under the stars and under the rather tight grip of a feller newly in love.

Christmas is a thing now, I guess.

It was just an idea he wanted to entertain, but now its something he wants to happen year round, he wants to spend it with the group of outlaws he’s come to call family, and beside the feller he has enjoyed kissing even without a mistletoe in sight.

Christmas is a thing he likes now.


End file.
